


Open Windows

by magicalmenagerie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9550619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalmenagerie/pseuds/magicalmenagerie
Summary: After living for seventeen regrettable years, Grantaire had already resigned to the fact that there were more than a few things he’d never see in his lifetime. One of those things was the sight of Enjolras stumbling through his open window at 2:58 am on a school night. But Enjolras never failed to surprise him, did he?Or, the high school au where Enjolras sneaks in Grantaire's window with a confession and both become incoherent messes.





	

 

Through his seventeen regrettable years of being human, there were more than a few things Grantaire figured he’d never see in his lifetime. He’d accepted a while ago that the aliens probably won’t come to invade earth until _after_ he was dead, that he won’t see one million dollars in cash sitting in his hands one day, and that he should pretty much forget about that whole “world peace” thing. But if you told him he’d see the day that Enjolras would climb through his bedroom window at 3 am on a Tuesday-well, he’d cart you to the psych ward across town. 

And that wasn’t just his cynicism talking. The fact that Enjolras would give him the time of day defied all logic. It spelled out a big _fuck you_ to the most integral rules of the universe. You know, the rules that say walking sun Gods just _don’t_ interact with the trolls who live in the bottom of trash cans. The rules that say people get what they deserve.

So Grantaire was more than a few notches past dumbfounded when he lifted his head from his sketchbook in his dimly lighted bedroom at 2:58 am on a school night to find that Enjolras was struggling to climb through his open window. The most painful part wasn’t even that Enjolras’s blonde curls hung at a perfect length over his brow after getting a haircut a few weeks ago, (Grantaire had to hyperventilate into Eponine’s brown paper lunch bag when he saw), or that black rimmed _glasses_ Grantaire had never seen before were falling down his nose, or even that his red converse matched the flush of his cheeks-but the fact that Enjolras somehow found a way into his _second story_ bedroom in the middle of the night.

But Enjolras always managed to amaze him, so what else was new?

As Enjolras finally got his bearings and settled his sneakers on the floor of Grantaire’s bedroom (man, that sounded nice), Grantaire couldn’t help but give him an incredulous look. “Umm…?”

Usually Grantaire was much more eloquent and suave than this, but the verbal delay decidedly stood as a coping mechanism for the sudden physical frenzy his body was launched into with face ablaze, tightened chest, and heart beating 100 miles a minute.

Because _damn._

He barely even processed that the first thing Enjolras did as he stood up was stop dead in his tracks and stare wildly at Grantaire for a long moment before saying “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Grantaire gave him a questioning look. “Dude, did you forget the part where this is my room? At what most normal people would consider ‘bedtime’? You’re lucky I’m even wearing these shorts right now.”

Enjolras made what sounded like a strangled noise. Grantaire wasn’t sure how to interpret that either, so he just ignored it. “How did you even get in here?”

“The terrace.”

“We don’t have a terrace.”

“Well now you do.” Enjolras supplied cryptically. “And besides, didn’t you say your neighbors were racist?”

To which Grantaire could only respond with “Uh…” Before being cut off again.

“That aside, I have a reason for being here.”

Grantaire snorted. “Oh, and I thought you were just strolling by on your 3 am walk and decided to steal my neighbor’s terrace so we could have a quick chat about the weather. The weekend’s going to be beautiful in case you were wonderi-”

Enjolras gulped. “Grantaire”  

“What?” He had never seen Enjolras look so- so _nervous_ before. He didn’t even know Enjolras was capable of such typical human emotions. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

Enjolras looked perplexed. “No. Of course not. Why would you?”

“No reason.”

There was a reason. It was, you know, just the fact that Grantaire had been pining for Enjolras, for what, 3 years? And it was only a matter of time until Enjolras was clued in on his obvious and creepy feelings that often manifested as longing looks and relentlessly immature mocking.

Grantaire really had no explanation as to _why_ Enjolras didn’t know about this yet. Sure, “feelings” really weren’t Enjolras’s strong-suit, but he was pretty sure Enjolras had fully functioning eyes and brain, so there was no way he wouldn’t know.

But this wasn’t an issue Grantaire was going to raise _now_ of all times with Enjolras standing at the foot of his bed looking like some gorgeous angel that got lost on the way from heaven.

 Enjolras shifted uncomfortably. _Shit._ Grantaire must be staring again.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to tell you this, and I don’t know how you’re going to react, but Courfeyrac told me I needed to say something and I just needed to get this off my chest because-”

“Wait- _Courfeyrac_ put you up to this?”

 In hindsight, Grantaire should have realized something fishy was going on when Courfeyrac texted his cell at 2:30 am asking if he was awake. Grantaire figured Courfeyrac had found a cute picture of a kitten on the internet or another or a buzzfeed quiz telling him what flavor of cheesecake he was, but all he got in response was a smiley face. Grantaire hadn’t thought anything of it at the time because as much damage as Courfeyrac would like to believe he can make, Combeferre really has the boy on a tight leash.

Enjolras seemed to be nervous about Courfeyrac’s antics too, though, because he quickly asked, “Why, did he tell you something?”

“No?” Grantaire replied.

This conversation was getting weird.

Enjolras sighed in relief. “Good. Because you have to hear this from me.”

“What is it that you have to tell me? Can it seriously not wait until lunch tomorrow, or you know, at least until _morning_?”

Enjolras just ignored him. He seemed as if he was mustering up the courage to say something.

Enjolras took a deep breath. “Grantaire…I-”

Then Grantaire’s phone started to ring. It was Courfeyrac. He could tell because the chorus of _Toxic_ suddenly filled the silence of the room. Grantaire looked away from Enjolras and picked it up.

“Courf?”

“R?”

“Obviously.”

Courfeyrac exhaled loudly. He sounded disappointed. “Damn, I was hoping you’d be busy.”

“What? Then why’d you call if you were expecting me to be busy?”

Courfeyrac hesitated. “…No reason.” And then. “Hey, is Enjolras there?”

Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras to see him nervously biting his lip. “Yup.” He wanted to be the lip. “In the flesh.”

“Ohhhh,” Courf drew a long breath. “Well great then, I’ll let you two get to it.”

“Wait, dude. What are you talking about? Why is-”

“Bye honey,” Courfeyrac crooned. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Wait-” Grantaire plead, but the line was already dead.

Exhausted, Grantaire sighed and set his phone back down. He ran his hands through his hair. Everyone was being _so damn confusing_ tonight _._

Enjolras stared at him awkwardly. “So, um…”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Why did he know you were going to be here? Is this part of some warped prank war? Because really, two can play at that game _.”_

Of course Courf was playing a prank on him. He knew Enjolras was his weakness. He’d only been in love with him for like, 3 years. And Courfeyrac had only been bugging him to say something about it for like 2 years and 364 days. Courf was trying to manipulate him into confessing his feelings for Enjolras. He must’ve roped Enjolras into coming here by saying Grantaire had criticized the homeland or something. …But the issue was, Enjolras didn’t exactly seem to be focused on lecturing him right now.

Grantaire shot a glance at him. 

“Um,” Enjolras bobbed his mouth like a fish.

“Tell me the truth. This is a prank, right?”

Enjolras was a bad liar. His face was slushed bright red. “No, I-”

“It has to be!” Grantaire exclaimed.  “Maybe I should fill his car with dog food? Or I can fake my death in a crazy parasailing accident!”

“I-”

“ _Or_ we can get Bossuet to dress up as a ghost pirate and-”

“GRANTAIRE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

….

???

Grantaire had to be hearing something wrong.

Enjolras’s face was scarlet. “Like. I mean _like_ , but not, you know, just like. But _like like._ Deep like. That kind of like.”

Grantaire stared. If he was dumbfounded before, he must be in a completely parallel universe now. Because not even Courfeyrac would do this as a prank. That would just be _cruel._

_But this couldn’t be actually happening._ Grantaire reasoned. _He has to be lying. He must be in the wrong bedroom. Maybe he mistook Grantaire for his Grandma or something? Or maybe he was threatened at gunpoint by terrorists. Or Grantaire had just died from asphyxiation or aneurysm and Satan was mocking him with what could never be in real life. Enjolras was going to start laughing and say he was on a prank show in any minute. Cameras would fill the room and tv guide headlines would read how a pathetic little seventeen-year-old had just been humiliated in front of the love of his life. This couldn’t be real._

Enjolras shifted awkwardly under his stare. His voice was shaky. “Yeah, so now that _that’s_ out of the way I’ll just be going now. See you at school tomorrow.” He made swift movements toward the window, but Grantaire stood up quickly and caught him on the arm.

“Wait.”

Enjolras shook his head and refused to make eye contact. He was blinking like he was trying to keep tears from his eyes. “No, really. Its late. I need to be leaving-”

His voice broke off when Grantaire took his chin in between his fingers.

Even in the dark room his eyes were the same deep blue that always made Grantaire’s breath stop. Normally he’d only ever seen them filled with focus, passion, determination, or hatred. But right now…they were just lost. And _sad._  

“Are you being serious?” Grantaire’s voice came out softer than he had expected. His stomach was curling into millions of little knots and his heart was beating so fast he was sure that Enjolras could feel it though his fingertips.

Enjolras’s breath hitched at his words. His glasses were fogging around the edges as if the tension and heat between them in this moment was too much to bear. But it was really just his breathing.

“Yes.”

Grantaire’s heart dropped. And he wasn’t really sure how it happened, but suddenly there were warm lips on his.

The kiss was soft and slow. Sweet and languid, and just long enough for Enjolras’s voice to be breathy when he curled his mouth into Grantaire’s neck to whisper “Your hair smells good.”

Grantaire smiled and pushed his hand onto Enjolras’s cheek so they were standing nose to nose, forehead to forehead, with just a breath of air between their lips. “And I deeply like you too.” Grantaire said, and rolled his tongue deep between Enjolras’s lips to continue their kiss.

And _fuck_ was that something.

It took all of Grantaire’s constraint to not grip Enjolras’s shoulders and tug his hand in those golden curls immediately. He kept their kisses long and breathy for a while, often breaking away from Enjolras’s lips only to recapture them and bite into his lower lip in such a way that made Enjolras’s hands tighten on the back of his neck.

But Grantaire could only take so much. Every time he played with his tongue or nipped his teeth on Enjolras’s skin, their arms grew tighter and tighter around each other until Grantaire had to throw his hands desperately in Enjolras’s hair and crush their bodies together so he could feel the pounding heartbeat of the blonde. And from the sounds that Enjolras was making, he seemed to be enjoying it just as much as Grantaire did.

“ _R,”_ Enjolras purred between kisses

_“Oui, mon ange?”_

They had met in french class freshman year.

“ _tas-toi.”_

Grantaire smiled against his neck started sucking kisses underneath his jaw.

Enjolras hummed a low noise in response and ran his fingers down Grantaire’s bare back, and it was in precisely this moment where Grantaire realized a few things.

  1. He was not wearing a shirt.
  2. They were two short steps from the foot of Grantaire’s bed
  3. It was the middle of the night
  4. The only light was coming from a dim lamp on Grantaire’s nightstand



And

  1. He was wearing sweatpants. _Sweatpants _.__



The situation was swiftly getting out of control and he wasn’t sure his seventeen-year-old body could take this for very long without things getting awfully embarrassing. So he wrenched his body away from Enjolras’s as quickly as he could, and backed into his bedpost so he was a healthy two feet from the blonde.

Both of their chests were rising and falling quickly, recovering from the suffocating lack of oxygen they just had between their mouths. And while the distance between them separated their bodies, the heat between them was still pulsing and thick, with Enjolras’s eyes blown black with desire (though slightly disoriented), and Grantaire enjoying the flare of heat low in his stomach as he realized his body was slowly being drunken in by Enjolras’s prying eyes.

And suddenly his mouth was dry.

And _dammit_ he really _really_ wishes he hadn’t worn sweatpants to bed.

But this thought doesn’t entertain for long because just as quickly as he wrenches them apart, Grantaire surges forward again and grabs Enjolras by the collar of his red hoodie, unzipping the jacket and pushing it off his shoulders while kissing every inch of skin that he can reach on Enjolras’s face and backing them up towards the foot of the bed.

Grantaire bites Enjolras’s ear and whispers “Is this okay?”

To which Enjolras only responds with a small whimper that Grantaire takes as an indicator to keep moving things forward. So he takes Enjolras around the shoulders and spins them so Grantaire can easily push Enjolras into a sitting position on the bed and climb into his lap, bracketing Enjolras’s hips with his knees.

It might be the way Grantaire pulls roughly on Enjolras’s hair and how he responds by trailing his hands over Grantaire’s bare stomach until he tightly grips Grantaire’s hips and pushes them flush against his own. Or how Grantaire is greedy with his kisses, licking and sucking and biting marks down his neck while roaming his hands underneath Enjolras’s white t-shirt and shivering in pleasure at the firmness of his abdomen. Or even how Enjolras gets so fed up with Grantaire that he takes his face in his hands and mashes their lips together with such ferocity that it burns and crushes and suffocates. But Grantaire decides that it’s the way he can feel Enjolras’s hot breath enter his mouth and the way his bones are aching for access to more skin and more feeling and just _more,_ that makes him start to fall to pieces. 

They’re talking to each other again with their words and with their bodies. With mutters of “ _Jesus Christ Enj”_   and broken whispers of “ _Again”_ to questioning hands dangerously high up the thigh and arms pushing and legs crawling up until the point that they’re lying flat on the bed and Grantaire is thankful that he can feel how gloriously hard Enjolras is between his hips through the thin cotton of his sweatpants.

The next moment Enjolras’s hands are on his butt and they are doing something that is dangerously close grinding on each other and Grantaire is closing his eyes and gasping for air against Enjolras’s neck whispering about how he’s wanted to do this for so long, and Enjolras says he loves the way he argues about politics with him and how his tongue rolls when he’s speaking French, and everything is too much and too little all at the same time. The universe is thrown off orbit and shrunk to the size of the room, and nothing exists except the lamp on the nightstand and the shining golden curls of Enjolras’s hair. But Grantaire doesn’t care because that’s all he’s ever needed in life anyway. Grantaire wonders to himself how anybody could ever want anyone else. Enjolras says the same thing out loud against Grantaire’s lips.

 And suddenly the floor creaks in the hallway and it’s done.

Enjolras and Grantaire are popped out of their tiny universe and reality comes crashing down around them again. They’re seventeen years old, the world is a brilliantly wacky, amazing, and downright shitty place. They have families and friends they care about. Love is brilliant and miserable. And sex is awkward and embarrassing at first. They have school, responsibilities, and futures to worry about. People have insecurities and flaws, bad moments and ways to cope. And relationships are hard work and no one is perfect. True love isn’t liking the smell of someone’s hair, or speaking French in intimate moments, but a choice. A commitment.

And Grantaire has issues with alcohol. And Enjolras has issues with _feelings._ They both have issues with pride, and their parents, and accepting themselves. But they dove in head first anyway.

After hiding for five minutes to make sure the coast was clear, Enjolras curls up next to Grantaire on the bed and rests his head on his chest. Grantaire absently lifts his hand and softly strokes the messy tufts of hair that stick up awkwardly in the air. He asks “How do you feel?”

Enjolras hesitates. “Terrified.”

“But?”

“Happy.”

 


End file.
